As every Scout must surely know, there is no fun like camping. Songs around the bonfire, toasted marshmallows and the freedom of packing up and moving on are exhilarations beyond compare. Who, then, can blame Colonel Muammar Gaddafi for wanting to pitch his own tent on his state visit to France? He does not even plan to sleep in it. Commendably, he appreciates the fun of campsite parties so much that he requires the tent purely for entertaining. The Libyan authorities have not revealed whether there will actually be toasted marshmallows at the festivities and, regrettably, it seems pretty unlikely; the tent is traditional Beduin, and the Beduin in general prefer camel stew to confectionery, but the principle holds. Everything is far jollier under canvas.

The fun of camping also has a history of improving diplomatic relations. At the historic Field of the Cloth of Gold meeting of Henry VIII and Francis I of France in 1520, they chose to celebrate cordial relations with a camping extra-vaganza. There was remarkable foreshadowing of the one-upmanship displayed at Glastonbury today, except that instead of comparing breath- able polycotton flysheets, the kings were eyeing up the precious metal content and trompe-l'oeil splendour of each other's kit. Again, the absence of marshmallows was lamentable, as they were 400 years away from reaching France at the time, but it is pleasant to imagine that the kings built a bonfire and had a singsong. Tents have improved relations elsewhere. Native Americans build sweat lodges in elaborately adapted tents to foster contemplation. In London, a Beduin tent stands in the centre for reconciliation that used to be St Ethelburga's. Interfaith celebrations flourish beneath its goat-hair canopy.

The French should allow Colonel Gaddafi his tent because it will be a fine goodwill gesture; because there is plenty of space in the Élysée Palace's extraordinary grounds; and, most of all, because he might well invite them to join him for high jinks and a starlit singalong.